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Spot loves yet hates where he is. In life, at least. He loves the fact that he is the king of Brooklyn and can tell anyone what to do. He loves the constant attention on him and how he is praised for being the toughest newsies in all of New York. But he hates it all at the same time, too. He hates how one small mistake can ruin his standing of where he is. He hates being judged by many people, which he can barely remember the names of. He hates that he is barely seen as a person anymore and more or less a symbol. He wants to make friends and talk to people, but he can't. He wonders what it got him to this standpoint whether it but by lucky chance or unfortunate mistake.
Spot loves and hates New York. He loves how alive it feels and the way it speaks. He loves the feeling of home it gives. But he hates it all the more. He hates how much it is. How it can feel so overwhelming you might as well slip of an edge and everyone would forget you in a bat of an eye.
Spot loves and hates his "friends." If you can call them that at least. He loves the feeling of it. The way if you're sad, happy, or angry, you can always tell them to them and talk with them. He loves being vulnerable after putting up the charade of being as tough as stone. But he hates it for that reason, too. He hates that after years and years of putting up these walls around his heart, determined to not let anyone in, they somehow do. Some made it past the first or second walls, which was already too far, but one had managed to get all the way through to the center of his heart. He hated them and loved them the same.
You can say Spot loves many things. But the one thing he hats the most is himself.